Foreboding Skies (The Skybreaker Saga Book 1) (4 page)

The whole cluster-fuck would be identified as a terrorist attack and Uncle Sam would conduct an invasive investigation. I had to stash Downs somewhere quickly and get off the streets. The Feds would fast figure out who had been operating out of the demolished building. Then they would start an intense search for Jeffery Downs and any unseemly associates, even the seemly ones might not be sparred, the silver lining being that such a probe would reveal the dirty dealings of Detroit’s unfinest. I needed to be concerned with concealing my own dirty dealings. I would need a good alibi to fool my biggest fan. No matter what he would be looking at me for this. I could only hope no one would listen to him.

With Detroit’s finest closing in I finally reached my destination. It was a dilapidated building with the faded outline of a clown stenciled on the wall. Yes a clown, this used to be a clown supplies store from a time when clowns weren’t a byword for psycho killer. It just goes to show you that anything could be found in a big city, even a dying one. I pushed open the surprisingly modern and well maintained door, it didn’t even squeak. The counter was on the other side of the moderately sized store with a lone bell sitting on it. Why the bell? The man I was here to see was a jackass that’s why, but he was a capable jackass.

One ring, two ring, three rings, I have found that if I act like a neurotic child I get service faster. “Enough with the fucking bell you asshole!” I allowed myself a small smile at his annoyance, you have to enjoy the little things. Especially on days like today. The man who emerged from the back office was a short, stout, and swarthy balding man who looked to be about forty, though he was much older than that. “I imagine the shit storm outside is because of you?” He didn’t need to ask and I didn’t need to say anything. “Your namesake is a farce. You are by no means anything approaching peaceful.”

I smiled and plopped Downs onto the counter. “I have a deposit to make. I need to leave this here for safekeeping.” He raised an eyebrow and crinkled his nose, the piss and shit were starting to mix with Downs own pungent odor to create a unique stench. It forced me to dull down my olfactory abilities to survive the trip here. I would definitely need to hit one of my stashes of clothing on the way home. I needed to be presentable for my interview.  

“Alright, I am sure I can find room for him, but storage for hot and dirty items cost more. If you want a technician to look it over that will cost even more.” Basically, the humans would be after him, he smelled bad, and if I wanted to bring someone in to torture him for information I would be paying big bucks. Fine by me, I needed to know what Downs did, and I didn’t have the time for torture. I would be plenty busy chasing down other leads. And really, I just didn’t want to deal with the piece of shit. The whole point of money is to pay people to do the tasks you didn’t want to do or were incapable of doing yourself.

“That sounds fine to me, can I wire you the money or do you want cash?” I was hoping cash, I kept a large stash of paper money and other highly liquid forms of currency. Wiring money on the other hand leaves a trail, especially for the amount I would be paying.

A smile with no mirth followed by, “I don’t want your money Mr. Smith, I just want a favor.” My first thought was fuck that, it was also my second, third, and fourth thought. Since I had been doing so well with sharing my inner thoughts I decided to continue my roll.

Genuine joviality actually seemed evident on his face. “It’s nothing too serious, I have a friend that needs a book looked at and you may be the best most discrete choice.” Never do anyone any favors ever, ever! I had known Balindor the dwarf for a long time and he was a greedy son of a greedy bitch. Any favors he wanted done in lieu of a cash payment would be horrible for me.

“Absolutely not, now do you want my business or not? If not, I can find somewhere else to stash this piece of shit. It would be a pain in my ass but I will do it.” I knew I had him. Balindor loved money too much to let my business slip away

Balindor shook his head and looked at the counter, where is hands were clenched. It wasn’t like the dwarf to act nervous or shy away from a tough negotiation. “Are you going to tell me what this is really about or should I start running because the police are still after me?” They were actually here, an officer shined his light in the window, looked around, and then left. Humans couldn't penetrate the spell protecting the store. All they would see was a crumbling unoccupied building thanks to a slight magical suggestion that they should move along because there was nothing to see. It was why I didn’t mind chatting for a bit, I could wait here till the search moved on, but I really just wanted to go home. “Are you really turning away the almighty dollar? Come on Bashful.” That did it. He looked momentarily pissed at the mention of the Disney dwarf then subsided with a long sigh.

              “I owe this friend quite a lot, not money, just a lot. She needs your help, if you hadn’t shown up tonight I would have called you tomorrow. It’s not dangerous, really it’s not.” My raised eyebrow was all the answer he would get. Not dangerous, not dangerous, I let that roll through my mind a few times. I liked Balindor, I did, just not enough to put my head on the chopping block for one of his friend’s that meant nothing to me. He saw the answer on my face before I said anything. “You Shamans really are cold bastards you know that?”

Of course I did. I was trained by one of the coldest. Shamans were an independent lot, often living centuries in relative isolation and only breaking that to train an apprentice or deal with a disaster. Maybe it was our association with the spirit world that left us detached from this one. Regardless of all that I was not doing anyone favors, even if the favors were for sad little dwarfs. “The shop is for paying customers only.” He said tightly. The message was clear. “Well I should get going. I need to hurry if I’m going to stay ahead of the police.” He nodded and watched me throw the great defecator over my shoulder, check the street, and dart out into the newly fallen night. I really didn’t have that many spots where I could hide a wanted white supremacist drug lord.

But there was one place that would serve my purposes, though my boss wasn’t going to be happy about my appropriation of the space. I worked at a high end clothing design company that was a front for a high end enchanting company. The owner was an old associate and master enchanter that I had helped out of a difficult situation a few decades ago. An elf by the name of Alewyn, but he preferred Jeff these days, at least in official matters. All of the clothes he sold were custom designed and made by hand, it was his niche. He knew a lot of people with disposable income who loved to have their own line of clothing. I knew that he had recently bought an old warehouse to hold raw material and that there wouldn’t be any raw material in there for a week at least.

It would do for now. I could only hope Balindor would give up on his dogged insistence to trade a favor for a favor. I wasn’t counting on that as Dwarfs are legendary for their mule headedness. I certainly wasn’t going to buckle. Cash was clean and favors were messy.

Several choppers were buzzing above the city with searchlights blazing like predatory birds on the hunt. I stuck to alleys and the occasional rooftop to dodge the hoard of well-equipped officers and dogs. Ever since global terrorism became a thing most police forces in major cities were being outfitted like armies. All it really did was annoy me. Even with their full combat load out I wasn’t worried about the cops being able catch me. Still, it took far longer than it should have to get from Balindor’s creepy clown emporium to the empty warehouse. Dodging cops equipped for urban warfare made for difficult travel.

I did have a key to the warehouse. I just wasn’t supposed to have it. My job title was Assistant Lead Designer and a designer really has no need to get into warehouses. But I like having access to places people don’t think I have access to. It certainly proved to be beneficial tonight.

Downs was once again stirring and mumbling about the voice from the light, fascinating stuff. I couldn’t wait to talk all about it. I didn’t take prisoners under most circumstances but I needed to this time. Someone gifted three supernatural guards and at least two powerful amulets to a human drug kingpin. And, of course, the exploding building with the mystery basement. All of which indicated that someone with a fair amount of power was backing Downs. The only reason I could think of was petrifying.

I took a bottle of magic sleep aid out and poured it down Downs’ throat. Balindor sold it to me a week before when I was buying other supplies. He insisted it would safely keep a grown man snoozing for two days. In the same batch he threw in several wrist bands that made the wearer incredibly hard to find using magical searching methods, as a Shaman I already had that advantage. The four leather bracelets would make downs difficult to locate. I had shoved them into my jean pockets and forgotten about them and I coincidently decided to wear the same pair of jeans. It was an odd stroke of fortune that would make some think of divine intervention. Thankfully I knew better.

The concoction would keep him out until I could get someone to build a proper cell. I then handcuffed him around a sturdy support that even I would have been hard pressed to break through. A few strips of his shirt made for a suitable gag and he was as snug as a bug in a rug. With Downs taken care of I slipped out into the night with the desire to get a restful sleep. It wasn’t going to happen but was the thought that counts.

I strolled down the street toward the closest bus stop. Joining the sleepy crowd of day laborers heading home, and the oddly energetic late night shift heading out. It was about nine o’ clock and the sun was beginning its descent below the horizon. The entire fiasco lasted thirty minutes. The police swung by a few times and eye balled the crowd, but didn’t seem interested in disturbing the bus goers. That was nice of them, but at this point I wasn’t worried about the police catching up with me. No one would or even could give them a solid description of me.

I hopped off the bus a few blocks earlier than usual to clear my mind with a nice walk through the cool spring evening. What Downs had said was still rolling around my head like a drunken sumo wrestler. Aggressively flattening any other thoughts that tried to sprout up. Was he insane? Dumb question, he obviously was. But was he telling the truth about someone warning him about me? About a “Voice from the light” giving him commands? I had no idea what to make of that statement. The werewolf, troll, and ogre seemed to support the notion that Downs was a front man for a larger conspiracy. Why else would they have been working together. And working for a human of all things?

Humans aren't supposed to know about anything supernatural and telling them is a serious breach of trust with the entire Community. Anyone caught trying to break the Silence was dealt with in a manner both harsh and swift. The Silence is the two-thousand and some change year old pact that governs the greater supernatural community. The document itself is exceedingly long and covers everything from the proper titles of the signatories to the ideal ratio of supernatural entities to humans in a defined area.

The most important part, the part that lends its name to the whole shebang, is the Silence. Keep the humans in the dark and only let a select few know if absolutely necessary. Keeping the humans completely unaware was becoming more and more of an issue. Humans went from being simple savages to sophisticated savages in an astoundingly brief period, at least from the Community’s point of view. Technology and science had been stagnant for the majority of human history. Sure, you had the odd mathematical breakthrough or a new invention, but the world didn’t really change. More importantly people didn’t change. Now DNA, satellites, and a new spirit of open-mindedness were threatening to undo thousands of years of ignorance.

The reining powers didn’t like how many humans already knew of the Community. The leaders of the world knew we were here. But the Silence still held firm and no one was allowed to talk, beings that counted their age in millenniums were not quick to change. The presence of an unknown entity that refused all communications made the humans afraid. Humans, much like sand people, scare easily and always come back in greater numbers. That fear often turns to hatred and violence The Salem Witch Trials were a potent example of people going crazy with fear. If Shamans and Wiccans got along we may have intervened sooner in that incident.

The governments of the world weren’t simply going to accept being left in the dark against a palpable threat that they had no idea how to counter or even measure. The loads of crap information in fairy tales would be more hindrance than help, centuries of misinformation by the Community saw to that. This is why they were most likely pooling their resources to try to understand the magnitude of the supernatural world. Every major world government and most big city police departments had special divisions to deal with everything mankind’s current understanding of the world couldn’t explain. Thankfully, their influence remained severally limited by general skepticism. Detroit, still being a major city despite its economic downturn, was no exception to the rule. Which is why I was unsurprised to see two of Detroit’s finest waiting by the entrance to my apartment complex.

I needed this to be quick. I was in dire need of a rekindling,  to recharge my soul. To control feral spirits and use my bonded spirits I needed to burn my own excess life force. Rekindling was how I built up excess life force or Essence. On that note I was immensely grateful Justice tagged along all the way back home. I would have collapsed somewhere in the streets without the strength it lent me. I had stretched my endurance too far and was paying the price. The early symptoms of immersion were a lot like those of a severe hangover. Full immersion was the worst way for a Shaman to die.

My base of operations was located in a working poor, mostly residential neighborhood that had been slated to be completely redone and gentrified. But budgetary issues forced the program under the axe and the neighborhood was left with a few half-completed buildings and property values still low enough for the working class folks to afford their homes. That was one aspect of urban renewal that rarely gets attention, the fact that a lot of the original residents of such places got the boot and wealthier folks that could live almost anywhere already moved in. It didn’t help the people who live there. It only forced them to an even worse location they could afford.

The streets weren’t usually this empty on a Tuesday. It was after all, a lovely spring evening. About seventy degrees, an ideal temperature for frolicking and a rarity for Michigan. Once I turned my full attention to the officers I could see why the people were scarce. In the low-end neighborhood I called home people were wary of the police. Especially giant and angry ones.

Detective Hemingway, no relation, trust me I have asked, was pissed today. I didn't need to reach out with my essence to know there would be plenty of rage spirits swirling around him. Detective Joseph Hemingway was a fifteen year veteran of the force who looked like a bear-man hybrid, a hybrid that hit the gym a lot. He stood tall and thick at 6’2” and 220 pounds, nearly every ounce comprised of muscle. He was also one of the most honest people I had ever met. Justice liked him and I would have to say that I did to if I were being honest, which I’m not. He was a regular gentle giant. Well, mostly gentle anyway. Just don’t make him angry, you wouldn’t like him when he’s angry.

The man’s nerves were comprised of space-age super-alloy. He hadn’t flinched all those years ago when faced with a true nightmare. The lone wolf mad with the pain of the change combined with new animal instincts reacting to an unfamiliar environment drove the poor bastard to insanity. Intentionally left without an experienced wolf to guide him he became a true feral with no hope of recovery. The entire ordeal turned out to be tied to werewolf politics with the end result being the overthrow of the previous alpha by a Werewolf far more capable and ruthless.

Then Sergeant Hemingway hadn’t hesitated putting two clips into the wolf. Even as it bore down on him he remained capable of delivering several precise shots that would have killed most anything else. His calm when faced with an inexplicable situation and his refusal to change his report to fit what people wanted to see convinced someone in the government to put him in charge of Detroit’s fledging supernatural task force, or more likely he was being punished with a dead end assignment.

The Anomaly Investigation and Special Situations Task Force, AISSTF for short, handled everything weird in the greater Detroit area. The division had been widely considered a dumping ground for officers unfortunate enough to have offended someone powerful. Hemmingway, all credit to him, managed to take it from a punishment and slow career death to a semi-respected unit. But only semi-respected. It’s hard to get respect when everyone thinks you are crazy, especially hard when the official stance of your superiors is that you were crazy or at least incompetent. Even with Hemingway’s hard work a lot of people didn’t take his unit or its mission seriously. Human skepticism remained the Community’s best defense.

The man I was faced with did not share that skepticism. I had already gathered that Hemmingway was the type of person who readily acknowledged how little he knew and was willing to consider answers most others would scoff at as being absurd
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But his open-mindedness did not explain how he had found me again. My only lead was based on his ancestry. The good detective did have legitimate Wiccan ancestry several generations back on his mother’s side. It was possible that trace amounts of talent still lingered within him, enough for him to realize that I wasn’t an ordinary. But if that were the case then he would have other abilities as well and I had seen no indication of that. Whatever made him tick made him a superb leader for the AISSTF. It is unsettling to have such a man gunning for you.

Luckily, only a portion of his anger seemed to be directed at me. The rest was flowing toward the second officer, who was not his usual partner. The newcomer was a stunning looking Asian women with silky black hair tied up into an efficient ponytail who stood far below my own height, she must have been 5”1” an even hundred pounds. She seemed off, she held herself in a way that didn’t say cop to me. I put my finger on it, she was too observant. As in, highly trained government agent observant. I figured I would gain attention from the Federal level eventually. I suppose Hemingway had done a decent enough job of convincing enough people that there were real threats that regular law-enforcement wasn’t equipped to deal with. I could only assume she was here because of the brawl. The human authorities were certainly moving fast, unless they were already there for a different reason.

I gave them both my award winning shit eating grin. I did like Hemmingway, just not enough to avoid taunting him a little. He knew I was something, not exactly what, but something. “Why if it isn’t Detective Hemingway and Detective Seck, how nice to see you both again.” I said in my best respectful tone, which I’m told, still sounds like I’m being a smart-ass. Hemy as I often called him, sighed at my games, the Fed frowned slightly. Archie Seck had been Hemy’s partner for years, but nearing sixty Archie finally retired. He tried for years to transfer to a respected position before retiring to no avail. Despite his years of service Seck would be remembered for his stint in the spook squad. I was wondering when a replacement would be inducted into the spook squad.

Hemy cleared his throat and flexed his trunk of a neck a little and spoke with a voice so deep the earth shook a little, “This is my new partner Detective Sophia Jones, she is new to the precinct and I am showing her around.”  The Fed, Jones, gave him a narrowed eyed look. Hemy was a terrible liar, awful really. She recovered though and turned her gaze on me. I wish she hadn’t, if she was creepily observant before then this was a full blown stalker, find out everything you have ever done kind of look. She gave me what she must of thought was a warm and friendly smile. Maybe it would have been if she weren’t here to uncover all my secrets.

Before she could actually speak I stepped forward and leaned in, she wasn’t the only one who could be creepy. I was only an inch away from her face when she finally stepped back. I gave yet another sincereish smile, “I see you are not Detective Seck, I apologize but all cops look alike to me.” Maybe it was wrong to take out my frustrations of the day on them, but I was inherently hostile to snoopers. My still smoldering lung greatly reduced my ability to be polite. She frowned at that and Hemy was forced to turn slightly to conceal his amusement. Looks like he really wasn’t too fond of the lady Fed.

Jones finally regained her composure and made to speak before I cut her off again. What can I say? I am an aggressive conversationalist. “So, were you just about to leave? Not much crime around here you know.” It was mostly owing to yours truly that anyone who tried to set up shop around here met a bleak ending. “I feel to adequately do my duty I must thoroughly familiarize myself with my new precinct.” She said all of this in a flustered rushed huff. I would guess that she wasn’t used to other people dominating the conversation. That was when Hemy cleared his throat and stepped up to me. He was clearly trying to intimidate me. It was ineffective against someone in my line of work. Hemy was tough, I knew first hand his punches could put a bull down, but I had already put down two creatures infinitely more lethal.

“We actually have another reason for being here Mr. Smith”, my alias to the human world was John Smith. I didn’t really care to be creative with fake names. I would probably change it before too long anyway. “There was an incident approximately one hour ago in a neighborhood on the south side that involved a large firefight with at least forty gang members. There were about a dozen dead.” Both carefully watched my reaction to the news. I didn’t need to feign surprise about the extra bodies. Such a high body count baffled me. The room, the basement room I never had the chance to check out. I leaned back against the wall there were people in there? That was an abhorrent development.

Of course, first I would have to beat the wrap for a bombing and assault with a deadly weapon, which also would include a bombing I suppose. I did my best concerned citizen impression, with my eyes widening and my mouth working in vain, as I was too shocked to form words. “That is absolutely terrible Detectives! I knew that the big city could be violent when I moved here from the countryside, but this is too much!” I let my eyes go even wider as if struck a frightening thought, “Do you think someone around here was involved?” That said at just above a whisper, as if I thought the mad bomber would jump out at any second. This wasn’t too far from the truth. I was hunting something and it would probably hunt me back.

Hemy was used to my bullshit, the Fed was not. Instantly she lost her temper and stepped up to her original position. It was difficult to intimidate with such a slight stature, but God bless her, Jones was trying for all she was worth. She looked me dead in the eye, “There was a damned bloodbath in that neighborhood! The people we pulled from the ruble… it looked like a pack of wild animals ripped those people to shreds!” Her gaze was quite intense, she must not have been well versed in the proper behavior when dealing with the supernatural. Never look anyone in the eyes for any reason ever. Some things will take it as a challenge and kill you on the spot, others can use direct eye contact for mind control.

Over the years Hemingway had systematically narrowed down what I was through little tests based on the most common folklore about supernatural creatures. I wasn’t a Vampire because I walked in the light of day, though the eldest of that race could stand sunlight. I wasn’t a werewolf or any kind of were because silver didn’t bother me. I was wondering when he was going to “accidently” brush cold iron against my skin to see if I screamed and sizzled. He was running through all the classics with nothing to show for it and he would never have anything to show for his efforts. There was barely any mention of Shamans in popular culture so it wasn’t surprising he hadn't thought of it. Even if he had there wasn’t a substance that I was highly allergic to, no gotcha test he could perform.